Catharsis
by Ellislash
Summary: Ellis hates Nick. Nick's infatuated with Ellis. How will they resolve their differences? MATURE CONTENT. NxE, coarse language, violence, graphic sex. I don't own anything Valve does.


This is the smutty one! All the mature content! No children allowed!

That being said, a couple of notes: This one uses "Gone Rogue" as Nick's backstory; and krav maga is a combat style best described as "The ancient Israeli art of 'get your fucking Nazi hands off me.'" It's pretty much awesome.

Enjoy!

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><p>He didn't need to think to win at rock-paper-scissors. The sniper was his, and it reminded him of the old days before going rogue. Slightly different scope, narrower bore, but the muscle memory was there. He caressed it and checked its functions. <em>Good to see you again, old friend.<em>

_ Figures_, Ellis sighed inwardly as he watched the gambler take up the weapon with lust-tinged greed glinting in his eyes. _It'd__ be __just __like __that __sonofabitch__ to __hang __back__ from __the __fight __an' __take __all __the __credit __after._

A few miles later, Ellis was re-thinking his earlier cynical opinion. Nick used his gun expertly, and only when the group could see infected from a long way off; in close combat, he used a baseball bat to conserve ammo. Each time he griped about getting blood on his suit, regardless of its already thoroughly filthy condition.

They picked their way along a railroad bridge over a river sludgy with aftermath. Every so often a body was visible riding the sluggish current. Its languid movements seemed morbidly fascinating to Rochelle, who often peeked down to watch. Every time he saw her expression, Ellis felt a warm urge to take the woman in his arms and smooth the lines from her face. He shook his head, hard. _She __turned __you__ down __last__ week,__ y'idjit.__ Focus __on__ stayin'__ alive!_

Coach and Nick had no trouble keeping their eyes on the dangers around them. Coach, covering their six, occasionally fired a quick _rat-a-tat_ at the odd zombie sneaking up behind them. Nick, on point, had fallen into his training. The grid search pattern was harder to execute while walking, but still effective. He spotted a threat.

"Smoker!"

_Range: 102.4 meters; declination: 35 degrees; direction: 12 o'clock. Fire_.

"Got it." He scanned for retaliation and kept walking.

"_Hey_, Nick..." complimented Ellis, impressed; but to Nick, his tone bordered on sultry. _Goddamn it, now is not the time for distractions_! He shot the boy a nasty look and returned to attention. _There's never time for distractions. Not anymore. Focus._

Rochelle looked up, too, lifting her gaze from another drowned soul to raise her eyebrow at Ellis. He returned the look questioningly, but she only looked mildly amused and returned her attention to being on guard. Coach did not seem to have heard.

_What,_ Ellis thought grumpily. _I__ say __somethin'__ wrong?_ He pondered what could possibly be offensive about the words "hey Nick" and came up blank. _Momma__ always__ said,__ it __ain't__ whatcha __say,__ it's __how__ you __play __the __game,_ he remembered. Maybe it was his tone of voice? But the conman had been even more hostile than usual lately, despite Ellis' efforts to change him in the opposite direction. _I__ don't__ get__ it,_ he thought, _but__ I __sure __don't__ like __it._

Nick stilled the twitch in his belly and the look on his face with more effort than he would have liked. That he had to remind himself at all to remain alert was proof enough that this ordeal was really taking its toll on him. Ordinarily he made no friends, developed no relationships. It was ruin for business and death in the field. _Fuck this apocalypse,_ he thought. _When I get out of here, I'll have to hit easier marks for a while._

The group traded off positions. Coach moved up to take point, Rochelle dropped back, and Nick got to "rest" in the middle for a while. In the middle with Ellis. He controlled a grimace and resumed his watch, every sense heightened double - once by the ever-present threat, and once by proximity to the kid. That idiotic, adorable, aggravating hick. Nick tried to keep himself in check, telling himself that those feelings were inappropriate, but he was distracted by a giggle.

"What's so funny, farm boy?" Nick knew that a sharp enough insult would shut him up. Ellis' smile (_that gorgeous smile_) flickered.

The mechanic, reminded that it was his turn next to "cover the rear," hadn't realized that he'd snickered out loud at the phrase. He sobered up quickly.

"Eh, nothin'. Jus' thinkin' is all," he replied cheerfully, letting the insult slide. He met Nick's eyes and opened his mouth to ask where the con artist had learned to shoot so good, but the older man broke contact quickly and practically snarled, scanning the water as they walked. Ellis was taken aback, but said nothing.

On the other side of the bridge, the group fought their way through a patch of woods crowded with infected. Once they heard the harsh scream of a hunter, forever demanding an answer of the deaf heavens: "_WHYYY?_" Nick used a gap in the horde as a chance to bring his rifle to bear and kill it. It took two shots, and the hunter did not ask its desperate question again.

Nick switched back to using his baseball bat - the trees were really too dense for his long-range gun. Every time he smashed open a skull he tried to put all his frustration, his anger, his _rage_ into it. They fell, bursting like rotten melons, but still there was more. More tension clawing up the back of his neck, clamping his head in a vise. More exquisite awareness of the gorgeous human machine pressed against his side, reveling in slaughter. More hatred for his own inability to control his urges. He took it all out on wave after wave of infected. _Why won't it stop?_

Soon they rejoined the train tracks on the other side of the glade, but small groups of zombies continued to rush from the treeline at them. Ellis reluctantly produced a Molotov he'd been saving to drink at some point and lit it with a cheap yellow BIC he'd scrounged up at the last truck stop.

"Fire's a-comin!" he hollered, and flung the alcoholic grenade at the woods with all of his considerable strength. It burst across dry pines and raging flames quickly consumed the whole area. Nick almost regretted the loss of target practice, but that would have been a waste of ammunition. Instead he took a moment to admire the inferno, chilled to the core by its unholy beauty. The death shrieks of the infected pierced his brain, and restored some of his composure. It was a sound he was accustomed to leaving in his wake.

They got back on the train tracks and kept walking: southwest, always southwest. Nick stayed as far away from Ellis as he could, which was only about six feet. He watched his... _companions_ as closely as the scenery, noted their tics and little movements. Coach never changed. He was dead-set on survival and would keep going through hell or high water. _And we've done both, already_, Nick growled to himself. _That man is too boring to be real._ Rochelle... Rochelle knew. She knew _some_thing, at least. He saw her eyes flicker between him and Ellis, noted the amused little smile she got. She'd done the same thing earlier, on the bridge. Nick tried to calculate how much she possibly could have figured out, and watched her ass every time she turned around. _No harm in looking,_ he told himself.

Ellis was Ellis. He wanted a fight, that much was obvious to anybody. Only Nick could see that the mechanic would be happy fighting either of two enemies: the infected, or Nick himself. _He's finally getting it,_ he thought with relief. _Maybe now he'll just leave me the hell alone._ He didn't stop watching, though.

The aggressive set of Ellis' shoulders meant more to Nick than just the kid's tells. The way he handled his shotgun twisted Nick's gut with desire. The sunlight on the hair Nick could see under that stupid cap was pure gold. _Jesus fucking Christ, this is batshit insane. I need to get laid._ Nick caught himself looking a dozen times, hating himself at every turn.

So he was a player, back in the day. He could go both ways if there was profit in it, or if it was a _really_ good party. But actually lusting after a man? _You're one sick fucker. You've got what, ten years on him? Drop it, man, where's your ice?_ It took all his self-control to hide his obsession. He was unable to repress it entirely.

It nearly did him in later that night. About two hours after sunset the group caught up with the train. It had been a commuter line once, and required work to be rid of ex-accountants and former secretaries. As they were cleaning the place out, he was too busy thinking to notice that half-dead bitch to his right. She - it? - grabbed his bat at just the wrong time, and he went down with his arm in agony, dangling useless by his side. Ellis (of course it was Ellis) covered him as he got back up and continued to fight, left-handed, through the pain. He swore and cursed the entire time; half at the infected, and half at himself. He was trained to be better than this.

They set up camp in the café car. After barricading the doors, they took stock of their wounds. Nick gritted his teeth against the numbness spreading down his arm. Coach had been bitten pretty badly on the leg, enough to need stitches, but Rochelle and the kid seemed to be fine. He wished that Rochelle would be the one to re-set his shoulder, but knew she'd rather tend to Coach. Those two were peas in a pod, or rounds in a clip - she was constantly mothering them; he was like the father Nick secretly wished he'd had. Both of them were pragmatic, determined, and cared too damn much. He almost pitied them the emotional torture they'd go through when their group inevitably split up at New Orleans. Almost.

It was decided that Rochelle's smaller fingers were the best choice to sew up Coach's leg, so Ellis was assigned the task of putting Nick's shoulder back where it belonged. The conman grimaced - whether in pain or at the prospect of physical contact, Ellis couldn't tell. He knelt in front of the older man and did his best to cheer him up.

"Don't you worry none, I done this loads of times back home," Ellis began in a low voice, lifting Nick's suit jacket away from his shoulder. Nick braced himself for the torrent, discarding the words to focus on the sweet southern twang that carried them.

"Dave, he always had the wild ideas, an' Keith kept getting' hurt savin' our dumb asses... I swear I musta put him back together more'n a dozen diff'rent ways, an' that don't count the times we ended up in the hospital..." He chattered quietly as he explored the joint with careful fingers. He noticed the sheen of sweat on Nick's face and the way his chest, exposed by the blue dress shirt's missing top button, glistened under a patch of wiry hair. Each time he felt the older man's breath catch from pain he retreated, noting with odd satisfaction the tiny expression of relief as he did so.

"Just get on with it, will ya?" Nick snapped.

Ellis felt strangely reluctant to give up his position of power over the self-confident bastard, but did so anyway. "This is gonna hurt like hell, okay? Don't hit me or nothin'."

Nick knew what was coming; he'd dislocated things before. But it never got any better.

"Auggmmmph!" He bit Ellis in the ribs, as revenge for the poking, and it was satisfying to see the kid jump.

"Jesus, quit tryin' ta eat my liver n'kidneys!" he exclaimed, prying Nick's jaw from his side. "Ro's gonna hafta stitch_ me_ up next."

Nick resisted the urge to smirk, and only secretly relished the smell of him - under the blood and dirt, under everything rotten and foul, there was the unmistakable musk of sweat and testosterone. It was terrifyingly intoxicating, and he reined himself in for the umpteenth time. _You're going crazy, you bastard. When you get out of this shit, you'll find a nice little hellhole full of easy women to take your mind off things. Now cut that out._

"Hmph. Thanks." It was all he dared to say out loud.

Ellis smiled with his usual charm but felt cruelly exultant inside. _You owe me one, now,_ he gloated. _The invincible Nick with his precious suit, you _owe_ me._

It seemed as though no other survivors had cared to bother the train's former inhabitants, because there was still plenty of food on board. They feasted on suspiciously ageless coffee cakes and cold, pre-cooked, shrink-wrapped burgers. There was still a considerable stock of bottled water, too, and Nick savored every sip. After breathing disease and drinking bile for days, the pure non-taste of it was like a clean getaway.

The train was a good place to stay the night, so after dinner they each picked a cushioned bench to sleep on. Their barricades and the steel doors seemed safe enough, so they didn't bother posting a guard. Before settling down, Coach limped to the emergency panel and extracted a fire blanket.

"There's one in every car, if y'all feel like goin' to get 'em," he said tiredly, and lay down on a bench. Nick could see he was still in pain, but resented the advice just the same. He knew that Coach and Rochelle didn't deserve to be on the pointy end of his frustration, but was also too tired to give a shit.

"Too damn hot in this country already," he remarked acidly, and claimed a bench for himself. Rochelle looked at him curiously.

"Then why do you wear that suit all the time?" she asked him. Her voice was like sweet syrup. _Don't go there,_ Nick told himself firmly. "And long sleeves under it? You ain't right in the head."

He called up his barriers of sarcasm once more. They couldn't be allowed to see him waver. He wasn't sure why; they just couldn't.

"Because it cost me ten grand, and like hell I'm letting it go to waste. Besides, it looks _fantastic_ on me," he added with overly exaggerated self-conceit, and closed his eyes in a huff.

Ellis looked over the man appraisingly before hefting his shotgun and slipping into the next car. Nick _did_ look good in the damn thing, and the mechanic caught himself idly wondering what it would be like to wear fancy duds like that. _I'd__ probably __get __all __the __ladies,_ he thought with a wry smile - didn't Nick once say he'd been married a few times? _All__ the__ ugly __undead __chicks__ wantin' __to __eat __my__ guts._ He nearly laughed out loud at how much that sounded like Ol' Robbie back home, married four times and divorced them all. Ellis sobered instantly. Ol' Robbie was dead by now, along with his ex-wives. And seemingly every other woman on this god damned planet, except Rochelle.

_And__ she __don't__ want __you, __boy,_ he reminded himself as he obtained a second blanket. He looked at it blankly as frustration built inside of him. _Deal__ with__ it_.

So he did. Right there, two cars away from the other three, he sat down and untied the knot of his coveralls. Holding his shotgun tight against his side, he closed his eyes and loosed the button of his boxers. Lightly running his fingers along his swelling dick, he leaned his head against the wall and moaned quietly.

He thought of all the girls he'd once known, all the obscene things he'd done or wanted to do with them. Lily, when he was fifteen. Queenie, that same year. Nikki, in 11th grade. He tried to think of Rochelle's body, her dark skin soft and smooth, but he couldn't. It wasn't decent, a tiny voice in his mind told him. _Fuck __you_, he thought, annoyed, and let himself think of whoever he wanted. He rubbed his thumb around his throbbing head, smearing slippery fluid all down his shaft, and let his body twitch with pleasure. A shuddering sigh escaped his lips as he imagined gettin' it on with Sal, the pastor's daughter.

His hand moved rhythmically, up and down. His cheek was pressed to the barrel of the gun as if to the breast of a lover, and his breath misted the polished steel.

Mind paralyzed with lust, he was consumed by the pornography behind his eyes. Faster and faster he went, moaning louder and louder without any control.

"Unh... Oh _yeah_, that's right, take it..."

He was throbbing, dripping, getting close, feeling himself ramming his cock deep into his imaginary women, when through the crescendo of ecstasy building in his bones and the sweat soaking his hat he felt something different.

Allie Mae from the 12th grade was wearing a white jacket. And her long blond hair had stopped swinging in time to his thrusts, because it was now short and black. And the voice begging for more, yes, more was a rough tenor, with a northern accent.

_Nick_, Ellis realized, and a fresh surge of fierce joy - he was _dominant_ and the superior old snot had to _take_ it - pushed him over the edge. He screamed silently and convulsed, spilling hot cum across the floor with each spasm. The shotgun clattered as it fell.

* * *

><p>When Ellis had left Nick drew himself into the cold, calculating state he used to inhabit day in, day out. It had been getting harder and harder to stay detached recently, and he knew it was messing with his ability to stay alive. He also knew exactly what was causing it.<p>

_Overalls. Goddamn it. It's Rochelle's fault._ He'd approached her early on, and though his reputation in Reno as a ladies' man was well-earned, she'd promptly rebuffed him. He couldn't really blame her for that, considering the situation, but he did blame her for the consequences. _A man can only go without for so long,_ Nick thought grimly. Even his old training wasn't enough to keep a lid on the raging primal need. _I'm gonna go nuts. I have gone nuts. I can't think about this anymore._

Through sheer force of will, he brought his thoughts back from the warm waters of sins of the flesh. He played a full round of blackjack in his head, calculated the odds of dealing five types of poker hands, and was in the process of reviewing in detail every tactical maneuver pertaining to throwing people out of bars when somebody poked him.

It was Rochelle.

"Hey, sorry to wake you, but Ellis has been gone a long time. Can you go check on him?"

"Do it yourself."

"_Nick_..."

That tone of voice promised womanly retribution, and Nick knew better than to fall into _that_ snakepit again.

"Fine, fine, shit, I'm going," he grumbled. It looked like Coach was out for the count, probably from pain meds. Rochelle had that expression on, the one that said she _knew_. She was doing it again, trying to push them together in some sick attempt to play matchmaker. Nick suppressed a shiver and left.

The first car was empty, and the fire blanket was gone. Nick was approaching the second car when he heard the sounds. They stirred his loins uncomfortably.

"Unh... _mmm_, oh yeah, unh..."

_Of course he is,_ Nick groaned inside. _He's in the same boat you are._ But instead of respecting Ellis' privacy, he was overwhelmed with curiosity... and though he hated to admit it, the moaning was making him horny. He adjusted his stiffening cock so the bulge wouldn't show, and quietly slipped into the second car.

Ellis was sitting there, leaning against the wall, practically making out with his shotgun. His coveralls were down around his knees and he was jerking it like there was no tomorrow - which, Nick had to admit, there might not be. He watched with intense fascination as Ellis worked his dick, up and down, faster and faster, face contorted with ecstasy, until with a huge spasm he came all across the floor and the firearm clattered to the ground.

Then, to Nick's libidinous bewilderment, the mechanic started to laugh. On hands and knees, perfect ass bare (_and asking for it)_, Ellis snorted, then chuckled, then completely lost his head in hysterics that made him sound utterly mad. Nick silently picked up the shotgun as the younger man rode it out and pulled up his pants. When he reached for his weapon, Nick handed it to him.

The laughter died instantly. The men stared at each other, frozen, neither daring to speak or show shame. Each held an end of the shotgun for what felt like the longest eternity ever, panicking behind blank faces.

_Can he tell I've got a hard-on? What's he thinking? Shit, why didn't I just wait?_

_How long was he there? What did he see? God, what's he thinkin'?_

"Th'fuck're you doin' here?" Ellis failed to not choke, throat tight with shock and anger and fear as he grabbed his gun back and stood up. His face was so perfectly exploitable in its outrage that Nick didn't regret scaring the piss out of him one bit.

"Rochelle said you'd been gone too long and told me to haul your ass back to camp," he said flatly. His face was unreadable.

They stood face-to-face across two fire blankets and a drying puddle of semen. Silence grew.

Ellis did his best to display a defiant, challenging image while he desperately tried to rein in his thoughts. He stared at Nick and mentally dared him to speak first. The conman's icy expression and bearing betrayed nothing.

More silence. At this point the mechanic took it as a challenge, and simply refused to break the tension. _He walked in on me, so I got a right to the high ground,_ he reasoned, and waited. He knew the others didn't think he could be patient, but constantly landing in the hospital for life-threatening injuries kinda forces the quality on a man. Ellis settled into his stance and held out.

Nick broke first, not caring enough about it to continue.

"Coach and Rochelle are getting worried. You coming?"

_I already did, and you know it,_ gloated Ellis with an almost predatory smirk, and Nick instantly regretted his choice of words. He knew precisely what the kid was thinking - he wasn't _that_ much older, and probably not much more mature, in that respect. His perfect reserve flickered.

Ellis saw the wince with satisfaction, and felt on top again. Getting back into his usual character, he made a production out of stretching, and yawned. Nick almost lost control again. _Damn, he's ripped! _The younger man grinned.

"Yeah, sure. Time for some shut-eye," he said cheerfully, like nothing had happened. Using his toe, he kicked the blankets into the air and caught them one at a time - hell if he was gonna bend down in Nick's presence. Arranging them to keep his gun arm free, he brushed by the con artist and purposefully jostled his recently dislocated shoulder. He didn't look back to see the reaction.

* * *

><p>The conman did not flinch.<p>

He stayed in the second car for a while. Staring at the slowly yellowing mess on the floor, Nick could not get the image of bare-assed Ellis out of his head. Before he knew what he was thinking he started mentally following its curves with his hands, then knocked that goddamn trucker hat off and grabbed the golden-brown hair underneath. He stifled a moan. _I give up._

Nick allowed himself a few moments of fantasizing before returning to camp. Having finally decided to stop fighting these frightening new urges, it was surprising how easily he could visualize them. He ran his hands over the chiseled muscles and scars beneath the mechanic's shirt, kissed those big smiling lips with enough force to turn them red, and fucked that ass so hard that _neither_ of them could sit down for a week. He shuddered but did not take down his pants. If he stayed out much later, Rochelle would send a search party after him, too.

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><p>When Ellis returned to the café car, Rochelle looked up with concern. Coach was fast asleep already.<p>

"Sorry 'bout that, sunshine," he said cheerfully, tossing Rochelle a blanket. "Had to go searchin' real hard to find one for you, too."

She caught it with an odd expression. Ellis thought he saw suspicion under her smile, but he told himself he was just being paranoid.

"Well thanks, sweetie," she said, wrapping the rough cloth around herself. "Y'all okay?"

"Mighty fine, ma'am."

Nick came back in just as Ellis finished arranging himself comfortably. The mechanic watched through slitted eyes as Nick stood and looked at Rochelle's sleeping form for a moment, but shut them hard when he turned and started toward Ellis' end of the train car.

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><p>More card-counting helped Nick calm down enough to rejoin the others. When he returned, all three seemed to be asleep. He took the opportunity to look down at Rochelle and still admired the moonlight on her cheek, still wanted to get in bed with her regardless of the scratchy blanket. It was comforting to know he hadn't switched teams entirely.<p>

He lay down directly opposite from where Ellis was curled up into a big black lump, and looking across at him, Nick could tell he wasn't asleep. _He knows now, too, and he's gonna call me out, one way or another. _The conman reviewed what he had observed of Ellis' behavior recently, and reluctantly decided that he would have to come clean sooner rather than later. _May as well be tonight._

Ellis feigned sleep until the rustling noises stopped, then slowly opened his eyes just a crack.

Nick was staring right back at him.

It took all his strength and willpower not to sit up with a yell. Instead they began a staring contest across the center aisle, mirror images curled up for sleep with hard expressions.

Ellis lost track of time. He sorted his thoughts meticulously, never once breaking eye contact with his target. _I'm sick of him treating me like a kid,_ he decided. _Ain't gonna take it no more. An' I want _him_ to take it, wanna show him he can't just... just kick me aside like I ain't no thing!_ The neutral gaze became a glare. _Fuck this. Bein' nice ain't changed _shit_ with his attitude._ He suddenly sat up straight and cast off his blanket. Nick did not react.

"This ends tonight, y'hear? Dunno what I did t'deserve your shit, but we're gonna settle up good an' proper." He stood and pointed emphatically at the car door.

Nick slowly sat up.

"Yeah," he mimicked the southerner's drawl out of spite. "Yeah, I reckon we gonna."

Ellis made him go first, quietly shutting door after door behind them as they made their way to the end of the train. He slammed the last one and rounded on Nick, eyes hard and bright. He was looking to tussle.

Nick tried to keep track of everything in his head, but was suddenly overcome by the realization that this fight he'd started meant contact, and sweating, and heavy breathing. These things were distracting. How had he not considered them before? He focused harder on removing his suit jacket than he had on almost anything else, ever. His face was stony as he carefully folded the garment and placed it on a seat. He limbered up and took a position in the open area where wheelchairs were once supposed to go, getting into something that resembled a boxing stance.

"Well, go on, then," he goaded. "You've got beef, so let's work it out like men." The irony shrieked in his ears.

Ellis slowly removed his hat, and placed it next to Nick's jacket. He cracked his knuckles and took a spot directly across from his opponent, dropping to a wrestling position as they resumed their staring contest.

Nick had a moment to decide how to attack, and instead discovered that he didn't want to. _If he wins, he'll want to know what kinda stick I've got up my ass. I'll _have_ to tell him. Then I won't have to keep it secret anymore. _He knew that if he fought his best, he'd win; no amount of muscle could overcome twenty years of street-fights and nine of krav maga. He decided to throw it.

No sooner did he make the choice than his opponent rushed him. It was sloppy, and left Nick with ample time to dodge. His fist made contact with the side of Ellis' head as a lesson, but the mechanic turned faster than he expected. Instead of pulling the attack down and forcing a stumble, Nick let himself take it.

He'd thought that Ellis would just pin him to the ground, but no. Grunting with the effort, muscles rippling under his shirt, the mechanic lifted Nick bodily and trapped him against the closest seat: knees on the cushion, collar jammed against the headrest. Ellis let go of the belt and shoved his thigh between Nick's legs to keep him from kicking, simultaneously twisting both his arms into a handcuffed position behind his back. The victor leaned close to press his chest into Nick's upper back and prop his chin on the con artist's shoulder. His prize didn't make a sound.

"What now, old man? I ain't 'shut up, Ellis' no more, so tell me true or I won't letcha go." Nick fought back a curse as Ellis twisted his arm.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem?" his captor hissed. "We been through _hell_, saved each other's _lives_ more times'n I can count, an' yer _still _talkin' to me like you wish I was dead!" His voice rose with each word until he was almost yelling down Nick's ear. Realizing this, he swallowed and moderated his tone. "What'd I _ever_ do to you, Nick?"

Nick could feel Ellis' breath on his cheek, heard the genuine pain in his voice, and wanted badly to confess. But he also wanted to be elsewhere, or to have the upper hand, or to do any number of other things that did _not_ involve telling another man that he wanted to fuck him.

The conman's head hung over the back of the seat, and Ellis could not see his face. But he could hear the whisper.

"Long story."

Ellis moved his leg like he was going to knee his prisoner in the balls. The flinch in response was gratifying.

"I got all night."

Nick's conflicted mind swirled so fast that he couldn't get a handle on anything. It was even impossible to focus on the cards, the deck that calmed him, the game he'd mastered. This was _not_ how it was supposed to go.

He was silent for several moments, unable to speak. Ellis, however, was too worked up and full of victorious testosterone to let _that_ start again; so he snorted like a bull and bit down hard on Nick's exposed neck.

Nick's mind went blank from shock. The bite hurt like hell and gave him tingly, delicious goosebumps all down his left side. He threw himself against the hold keeping him pinned to the seat. It was useless.

"Woah, hey! Too far!"

Ellis withdrew his teeth and his prisoner quieted. A circle of vivid purple marks stood out against Nick's pale skin, and the mechanic shifted slightly as he felt the beginnings of an erection. _The hell...?_ he thought. But a rough voice interrupted. Nick had given up.

"You're not the only horndog left on Earth, kid. Think I don't see the way you look at Rochelle?" He smirked thinking about it, even though Ellis couldn't tell. "No, I'm not jealous, she shot me down too. Her and Coach are like an old married couple, have you noticed? No sex but plenty of... of touchy-feely crap. They act like parents."

"Guess so. What's your point?"

Nick took a deep breath. "You might call me a thief, and I'm first to admit I'm no saint. But I will _not _force myself on a woman, even if she _is_ the last one alive on the whole fucking planet." His voice was hard. Clearly he meant what he said, for once. "But jerking it out once in a while doesn't cut it. Not for me. I had no choice, and I guess I must have gone a little crazy..." He choked. He couldn't say it.

Ellis encouraged him to continue with a grind of his thigh, and the feeling sent barbed spikes of lust converging on Nick's cock. It stirred and began to harden. He shuddered.

"Exactly," he breathed, then continued in a louder voice. "You looked in a mirror lately, kid? They could put you in a fireman's hat and make a calendar out of the pictures." He took a ragged breath. "Too long without getting any, and even a guy looks sexy. And you, my friend, are a damn fine-looking guy." His chuckle was rich and velvety as the absurdity of it all became clear. "But I pictured it the other way around," he quipped, and pressed his ass against Ellis' leg, by way of example.

_ Did I just feel what I think I did? Is he getting off on this? _He could tell from the change in heartbeat against his left shoulderblade that his captor was thrown for a loop.

"You... you got a _crush_ on me?" Ellis stammered, stunned. His mind was spinning, but his dick was pointed very firmly in a single direction.

Nick started losing his temper. First the sexual deprivation, then the feeling attracted to another man, then _admitting_ it, and now being stuck in this humiliating position while that dumbass just didn't seem to get it? Too much. He snapped.

"If you want to call it that, fine. But hell if I was going to... to what, _proposition_? So I tried to make you go away. 'If he stops being so nice,' I figured, 'I'll stop thinking about it.' But you didn't fucking stop. You and your damn puppy-dog face, smiling at me all the time. The way you handle your gun, we all see how much you _like_ the fucking thing. I hate it!" Nick got more and more emphatic, until Ellis could feel the man practically vibrating in his hold.

_He wants it,_ he thought. _I can _do_ it!_

"Then maybe we can _both_ get what we need," he breathed, a whisper that sent shivers clear through Nick's body. "Hands up."

In his compromised state, the conman didn't have time to react. He tried to demand what the hell _that_ was supposed to mean, but even as the question died on his lips he knew exactly what was going to happen. He almost prayed again, then gave up entirely. As he felt his arms being forcibly repositioned, he finally silenced his reason and went along for the ride.

Ignoring the other man's sputtering questions, Ellis maneuvered Nick's hands until he only needed one of his own to hold them in place. Reaching down with the other, his fingers landed on a smooth leather belt buckle. He was keenly aware of a conspicuous bulge just an inch lower.

Faster than he thought would be possible, Ellis removed the belt and undid the fly on the white pants. He raised the neatly-tucked hem of Nick's shirt just enough to drag his hand across the conman's lean stomach, then slide it under the elastic band of his boxer shorts.

Nick had stopped complaining.

Ellis touched a familiar-feeling length of hardened flesh and drew back, not quite ready for the experience of touching another man's junk. He heard Nick make a noise that might have been a disappointed "aww..." but very quickly stopped listening to anything. This was _his_ moment.

Fuck Nick.

Withdrawing his hand, Ellis untied the knot of his coveralls for the second time that night. Allowing the dark blue fabric to fall, he freed his cock from its restraints. Touching it, he let his eyes roam over Nick's body, so helpless underneath him, and hissed in victorious pleasure.

Before his prisoner could make another sound, Ellis tore down the white pants and the boxers that said "Las Vegas." He released Nick's legs just long enough to push the clothing all the way off with his foot, knocking the pair of loafers to the floor at the same time. With building anticipation Nick allowed his knees to be spread as far apart as they could go on the seat, feeling more desperate for contact by the second, bracing himself even as he knew that relaxing would make it easier.

Ellis licked his lips, then his fingers.

He did like he'd seen actors in porn do, one finger at a time. Nick was hot and tight, incredibly tight, and as Ellis worked to loosen the muscles he gloated at every gasp, every groan, every sharp intake of breath, until he couldn't wait any more. Nick moaned quietly when the fingers retreated, then returned covered with Ellis' hot, slippery precum. It was too much.

"Goddamnit, just do it!"

Ellis did.

He forgot what his porn had taught him, and let himself inside hard enough to make Nick yell out. Ellis buried his face in his partner's hair, eyes closed as he slowly withdrew partway, then rammed home again to another cry - pleasure? Or pain? He knew it was too much for Nick, and he didn't care. He was in charge, he had _power_. He reveled in the double high of both victory and the desperately wonderful feeling of submissive flesh around his cock. A fuzzy, swelling heat began to tingle in his spine, and Ellis started to move, faster and harder, urgently trying to get more of the sensation that made his skin buzz and his eyes spark.

Nick wasn't ready. The first thrust hurt; the second tore him apart. He screamed, but Ellis didn't seem to hear. His flesh was ripping, he must have been bleeding, and he was trapped, bound and forced to endure it. He felt the mechanic's ramrod cock plunging over and over again, deep into his ass, and for too long it was the worst pain and humiliation he'd ever experienced.

Then it somehow changed, and instead of the searing flame of hell Ellis' intrusion began to feel like the glorious fires of heaven. He was thick and long and rubbed against every secret nerve, like the inverse of regular fucking, and all the pleasure was only heightened by the pain. Nick began to rock back and forth as best he could, moaning, still pinned against the seat, making each impact harder and letting Ellis in deeper, hitting a hundred impossibly sensitive spots he never knew existed. The hardened flesh filled him, invaded him, slid in and out in a rapid and torturous rhythm. Nick's untouched erection screamed for attention, weeping precum, and he could not help imagining how it would feel to be giving and receiving at the same time, and the climax was swelling and building within him but it wasn't quite there, oh god he was so close, _please_...

Ellis lost himself in the carnal motion, thrusting deep, over and over, each time using every inch he had, feeling the sweet wet friction for as long as he could. Nick had stopped screaming, had accepted his master's will and started twisting and flexing to increase the power and precision of Ellis' movements. He moaned low, gasped hard, groaned and begged and it brought Ellis dangerously, deliciously, painfully close to his limit – but he needed one more thing.

"Say my name," he growled, still ramming himself in mercilessly. "Say it!" Instinctively he let his hand move from Nick's chest to his dick and bit down again on his neck, relishing the taste of him.

"FUCK!" The tension and release at the same time made Nick's body arc, and fireworks went off in his eyes, and he cried out as the world collapsed and burned around him.

"Goddamnit... God damn... Goddamnit_ELLIS_!"

Ellis felt hot, thick liquid spill over his fingers, and couldn't hold on any longer. He let go of Nick's neck and roared like an animal, releasing long bursts into the howling void that suddenly swallowed him up, filled him with starlight and made his brain fizz like lightning. Nick screamed again as their bodies were fused in the heat, scorched bare by the flames and turned into little grey whisps that trembled and blew away on the wind.

There were no ashes when he opened his eyes, no sign of the inferno that had engulfed them. Only the darkness of the train car remained, and Ellis' weight still on his back.

They stayed like that for several minutes, drowning, twitching in impossible ecstasy until their bodies returned to reality. Ellis felt incredible - and utterly drained. When the room stopped spinning he took his weight off of Nick, and slowly, very slowly - _make it last_ - slid himself out. He staggered and sat down on the floor right where he was. Nick nearly passed out when the younger man eased himself away, and the pain came back, but slowly. He didn't move, and just let his warring feelings sort themselves out while he drifted on the rising thermals left behind by burning passion.

After forever, and far too soon, they wore off. He quickly realized just how much he hurt.

"Help me up," he tried to say.

"Lsdjrlwnfosaff," Ellis heard when he'd cleaned himself off, and raised his eyes. Nick was collapsed against the seat looking pathetic, ass red and raw, completely spent and barely able to move.

"Wuzzat?"

The black-maned head rose ever so slightly. "I said, help me up."

The mechanic smiled without animosity, and helped Nick put his clothes back on. They left his puddle to soak into the train seat.

Ellis dropped to the floor again and motioned for Nick to join him. The conman sat - very gingerly.

_That could have been a lot worse. Could have been better, but definitely... not bad._ Nick re-evaluated his position and found himself a hell of a lot more relaxed than he had been earlier that day. _I guess I really did need to get laid_, he thought with a smile. _If I can keep my head on straight_ - another dumb grin - _this could work out pretty well._ He broke the amiable silence.

"I needed that."

"Me too." Ellis leaned backwards and stretched thoroughly. He looked like a big cat, like a lion, and Nick drank in the sight shamelessly. It was much better, not trying to hide it. He let his mind wander for a while.

"I'm bushed," the mechanic yawned eventually, and grinned in the middle. "Or not. Not a-one bush involved. No sir." Nick caught his eye and they both laughed. "F'real, though, I gotta sleep afore we hit the road again."

He was right. They stood up slowly, and silently agreed that the others were not to know of their assignation. They cleaned themselves up as best they could – there wasn't much they could do about the bite bruise, but at least their clothes looked normal. Nick had a thought as he stuck Ellis' cap back where it belonged, and grinned like a shark.

"Next time, _I'm_ on top."


End file.
